The Saga of Blair Hughes: Living Nightmare
by LabyrinthAngel
Summary: Blair is not your normal fifteen year-old. She's dying. Plagued by several diseases, Blair has accepted her fate. That is until the mysterious Cirque Du Freak comes to town. Will she be able to resist Mr. Crepsley's offer, even if it means certain death?
1. Chapter 1

_**Prologue **_

Have you ever had one of those days where something bad happens and you hope and pray that's the end of it, but then something else bad happens? I know I have. In fact I've spent a good portion of my life like that.

You see; death is something that's inevitable. There's no way around it. Sooner or later we kick the bucket; it's a fact of life that we have to accept. We're all doomed from the start. Our bodies are ticking time bombs, doomed to fail, some sooner than others. Its something I had to come to terms with a lot sooner than I'd have liked too.

At six I had gotten asthma. I was nine years old when I was diagnosed with Muscular Dystrophy disease and Periodic Paralysis. By the time I was twelve I had been in and out of the hospital so many times I pretty much knew all the doctors and nurses by name, and had come to be known as a "regular."

It was really stressful on my mom. She'd taken off of work so many times to be with me that she ended up getting fired from her job at the local library. We were best friends, and she had always been there for me. With her I always felt safe and loved. When I was little I believed there was nothing my mom was afraid of but as I grew older I learned that wasn't so. Sometimes I'd hear her crying at night in the hospital or at home. She started drinking and taking prescription drugs. In the end she couldn't take it.

Just a few months before my fourteenth birthday, my mother, Elizabeth Hughes, took my dad's handgun, walked into the backyard and shot herself. The whole town was shocked, and my dad…I thought he was going to go off the deep end. All three of us, my dad, my brother, and me, were devastated but her death didn't affect them like it did me.

I lost more than my mom, I lost my best friend. Somehow though I managed to keep it together and stayed strong for my family, even though inside I felt like my world was falling apart. I had nightmares for the longest time after it and to this day I sometimes still do.

We didn't stay in our house, but moved into a small, three-bedroom apartment across town. It was weird because my dad had built that house and I'd lived there since I was three, but I think we all knew we couldn't stay there again. Without mom, it wasn't our home anymore.

Then, a few months later, came the worst news of all. The doctors discovered I had cancer. They gave me a year at the most, maybe two if I underwent chemotherapy, but I'd still end up dying before I turned eighteen.

My father was devastated. I'd sometimes hear him weeping, the sounds carrying easily through the thin walls of the apartment. We didn't tell my brother, though I wanted to. My dad begged me not to, he said that Mark was too young to be worried with thoughts of his older sister dying. In the end I kept my mouth shut, but inside I was aching to tell him.

I think the stress of raising two kids by his self was too much for my dad, and he was also very lonely without mom. Even though I knew no one could replace her I encouraged him to start dating again. None of them went well, until he met a manager's assistant from the bank named Jane Keaton. She was smart and pretty and dad really liked her. By the time of my fifteenth birthday they were married and their first baby was on the way. Jane was really supportive of my little brother but she disliked me for some reason. I wondered if it wasn't because I looked so much like my mom and Jane saw me as a threat.

When I was younger, and especially after my mother died, I use to get angry and end up screaming and yelling. I'd wonder what I did to deserve this, and why was I being punished. But by the time I found out I was going to die, I'd come to grips with it and didn't really worry about it. At least I wouldn't be in constant pain, I would finally be able to truly rest for the first time in years. I just wished my dad could have seen it that way.

Despite my obvious limitations, I wasn't that different from other kids. I went to school, did homework, watched TV, and had friends. I'd gotten really good at getting around with my crutches, so good that if needed I could run with them. There was plenty of stuff I couldn't do, but it didn't stop me from trying. One thing was for sure, I never gave up.

Now the reason I told you all of this is so you'd know this was a real story, and it doesn't end with a happily ever after. This is real life people, so if you're expecting some lovey, dovey, feel good story then I suggest you go check out the fairy tales, because I can guarantee you that's not what this is. In real life; bad guys don't always get caught, innocent people die, and evil usually wins.

Now that we've got that out of the way let me clear something else up. I haven't used anyone's real name in this story because, well you'll understand by the time I'm finished. So without further ado; let's get on with the story.

One more thing. If this was a fake story it might start out in the middle of the night with the wind howling outside. But since it's a real story we have to start where it really began. And where did it all start? On a toilet.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1

I was in the bathroom at school, sitting down on the toilet, humming my favorite song by Duran Duran. I had my pants on. I'd come in near the end of English 1, feeling sick from the medication I'd taken that morning. My teacher, Mr. Davis, is great about things like that. He's smart and knows when you're faking and when you're being serious. He took one look at me when I raised my hand and said I was ill, then nodded his head and told me to go to the bathroom.

"Throw up whatever's making you sick, Blair," he said, "then get your hide back in here."

I wish every teacher was as understanding as Mr. Davis.

In the end I didn't get sick, but still felt queasy, so I stayed on the toilet. I heard the bell ring for the end of class, and all the high school kids came rushing out on their lunch break. I wanted to join them but knew Mr. Davis would be angry if he saw me on the court so soon. He doesn't get mad if you trick him but he goes quiet and won't speak to you for a while, and that's almost worse than being shouted at.

So, there I was, humming, watching my watch, waiting. Then I heard someone calling my name.

"Blair! Hey, steel legs! Have you fallen in or what?"

I grinned. It was Daisy Cougar, my best friend. Daisy's real last name was Cooper, but everyone called her Daisy Cougar. And not just because the names sound alike. Daisy used to be what Jane calls "a wild child." She raised hell wherever she went, got into fights, stole from stores. One time- she was still in a stroller- she found a hard stick and whacked passing men with it (no prizes for guessing where she hit them!)

She was feared and despised everywhere she went. But not by me. I've been her best friend since kindergarten, when we first met. My mom used to say I was drawn to her wildness, but I just thought she was really cool to be around, and she didn't make me feel like a total weirdo because of my crutches and all my health issues. She had a fierce temper, and threw scary tantrums when she lost it, but I simply waited them out elsewhere when that happened and came back when she'd calmed down.

Daisy's reputation had softened over the years- her mom took her to see a lot of good counselors who taught her how to control herself- but she was still a minor legend in the schoolyard and not someone you messed with, even if you were bigger and older than her.

"Hey, Daisy," I called back. "I'm in here." I hit the door so she'd know which one I was behind.

She hurried over and I opened the door. She smiled when she saw me sitting down with my pants on. "Did ya puke?" she asked.

"No," I said.

"Do ya think you will?"

"Maybe," I said. Then I leaned forward all of a sudden and made a sick noise. Bluurgh! But Daisy Cougar knew me too well to be fooled.

"Give my boots a polish while you're down there," she said, and laughed when I pretended to spit on her cowgirl boots and rub them with a sheet of toilet paper.

"Did I miss anything in class?" I asked, sitting up. I was forever missing things because I was absent so much.

"Nah," she said. "The usual horse shit."

"Did you do your history homework?" I asked.

"It don't have to be done till tomorrow, don't it?" she asked, getting worried. Daisy's always forgetting about homework.

"The day after tomorrow," I told her.

"Oh," she said, relaxing. "Even better, I reckon. I thought…" She stopped and frowned. "Hold on," she said. "Today's Thursday. The day after tomorrow would be…"

"Got you!" I yelled, punching her on the shoulder. "You looked more worried than a pork chop in a room full of hungry dogs."

"Ow," she muttered. "That hurt." She rubbed her arm but I could tell she wasn't really hurt. "Are you coming out?" she asked then.

"I thought I'd stay here and admire the view. Maybe read the walls and catch the latest gossip," I said, leaning back on the toilet seat. "Hmm. It says here that Brandon was caught red handed with Stacy's momma. Load of horse manure if ya ask me."

"Quit joking," she said. "We were down five-one when I came in. I reckon we're probably down six or seven now. We need you." She was talking about basketball. We play a game every lunch time. Even though I can't run around the court, I can still make some goals on a good day when my legs aren't super weak. I can even make them from half way down the court. My team usually wins but we'd lost a lot of our best players. Greg Michaels broke his leg. Samantha Brown transferred to another school when her family moved. And Rachel Curtain had stopped playing basketball in order to spend lunch with her lame-brain boyfriend James Hardesty. Idiot!

I'm our best scorer. There are better defenders and offense players, and Tammy Johnson is the best point guard in the whole school. But I'm the only one who can stand up front and make four or five shots a day without fail.

"Okay, " I said. " I'll save you. My legs have been staying under me all this week. It would be a pity to stop now."

I grabbed my crutches, which were leaning in the corner of the stall, and lifted myself off the toilet, sliding my arms through the armrest and grabbing the hand grips tightly. Daisy stood back and let me out and we passed the senior girls- smoking around the sinks as usual- before hurrying outside.

We were down eight-three when I got on the court. It wasn't really a court, just a long stretch of concrete with two rusted goals at either end. Whoever built them was a total idiot because they put the basket really high on one of them and low on the other!

"Never fear, long shot Hughes is here!" I shouted as I hobbled onto the court. A lot of players laughed or groaned, but I could see my teammates picking up, and our opponents growing worried.

I made a great start and scored two three-pointers, I didn't have to worry about to many of the players getting rough with me, and it looked like we might come back to draw or win. But time ran out. If I'd arrived earlier we'd have been okay, but the bell rang just as I was getting into my groove, so we lost nine-seven.

As we were leaving the court, Amy Morgan ran towards us, panting and red-faced. They're my three best friends: Daisy Cougar, Tammy Johnson, and Amy Morgan. We must be the weirdest group ever because only one of us- Daisy- has a nickname.

"Look what I found!" Amy yelled, waving the piece of paper around under our noses.

"What is it?" Tammy asked, trying to grab it.

"It's-," Amy began, but stopped when Mr. Davis shouted at us.

"You four! Inside!" he roared.

"We're coming, Mr. Davis!" Daisy roared back.

Daisy is Mr. Davis's favorite and gets away with stuff that the rest of us couldn't do. Like when she uses cuss words in her stories. If I put some of the words Daisy has, I'd have been kicked out long ago. Sometimes we tease her and call her Davis's Daisy.

But Mr. Davis has a soft spot for Daisy, because she's special. Sometimes she's brilliant in class and gets everything right, while other times she can't even spell her own name. Mr. Davis says she's somewhat of a _idiot savant_, which means she's a stupid genius!

Anyway, even though she's Mr. Davis's pet, not even Daisy can get away with showing up late for class. So whatever Amy had, it would have to wait. We marched back to class, sweaty and tired after the game, (my legs were starting to give out a little too), and began our next lesson.

Little did I know that Amy's mysterious piece of paper was to change my life forever. For the worse or for the better, I'm still not sure.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Two

We had Mr. Davis again after lunch, for US history. We were studying World War II. I wasn't too excited about it, but Daisy thought it was great. She loved anything to do with killing and war. She often said she wanted to be a mercenary- someone who fights for money- when she graduated. And she meant it!

We had Algebra 1 after history, and- incredibly- Mr. Davis for a third time! Our usual math teacher was out sick, so others had been filling in for her as best they could all day.

Daisy was in seventh heaven. Her favorite teacher, three classes in a row! It was the first time we'd had Mr. Davis for Algebra, so Daisy started showing off, telling him where we were in the book, explaining some of the trickier problems as though speaking to a child. Mr. Davis didn't mind. He was used to Daisy and knew exactly how to handle her.

Normally Mr. Davis runs a tight ship -his classes are fun but we always come out of them having learned something -but he wasn't very good with math. He tried hard but we could tell he was in way over his head, and while he was busy trying to come to grips with things -his head buried in the Algebra book, Daisy by his side making "helpful" suggestions- the rest of us began to fidget and whisper to each other and pass notes around.

I sent a note to Amy, asking to see the mysterious piece of paper she'd brought in. She refused at first to pass it around, but I kept sending notes and finally she caved. Tammy sits just two seats over from her, so she got it first. She opened it up and began studying it. Her face lit up while she was reading and her jaw slowly dropped. When she passed it to me- having read it three times-I soon saw why.

It was a flyer for some sort of traveling circus. There was a picture of a wolf's head at the top. The wolf had its mouth open and saliva was dripping from its teeth. At the bottom were pictures of spider and a snake and they looked vicious too.

Just beneath the wolf, in big red capital letters, were the words:

**Cirque Du Freak**

Underneath that, in smaller writing:

FOR ONE WEEK ONLY- CIRQUE DU FREAK!

SEE:

SIVE AND SEERSA- THE TWISTING TWINS!

THE SNAKE-BOY! THE WOLF-MAN! GERTHA TEETH!

LARTEN CREPSLEY AND HIS PERFORMING SPIDER- MADAM OCTA!

ALEXANDER RIBS! THE BEARDED LADY!

HANS HANDS!

RHAMUS TWOBELLIES- WORLD'S FATTEST MAN!

Beneath all that was an address where you could buy tickets and find out where the show was playing. And right at the bottom, just above the pictures of the snake and spider:

**NOT FOR THE FAINTHEARTED!**

**SOME RESTRICTIONS APPLY!**

"Cirque Du Freak?" I muttered softly to myself. Cirque was French for circus…Circus of Freaks! Was this a _freak show? _It sure looked like it.

I began reading the flyer again, immersed in the drawings and descriptions of the performers. In fact I was so immersed, I forgot about Mr. Davis. I only remembered him when I realized the room was silent. I looked up and saw Daisy standing alone at the head of the class. She stuck out her tongue at me and grinned. Feeling the hairs on the back of my neck prickle, I stared over my shoulder and there was Mr. Davis, standing behind me, reading the flyer, lips tight.

"What is this?" he snapped, snatching the paper from my hands.

"It's an advertisement, sir," I answered.

"Where'd you get it?" he asked. He looked really angry. I'd never seen him this worked up. "Where did you get it?" he asked again.

I shifted nervously. I didn't know how to answer. I wasn't going to tell on Amy- and I knew she wouldn't own up to it by herself: even Amy's best friends know she's not the bravest in the world- but my mind was stuck in low gear and I couldn't think of a reasonable lie. Luckily, Daisy stepped in.

"Mr. Davis, it's mine," she said.

"Yours?" Mr. Davis blinked slowly.

"I found it near the bus stop, sir," Daisy said. "Some old guy threw it away. I thought it looked interesting, so I picked it up. I was going to ask you about it later, at the end of class."

"Oh." Mr. Davis tried not to look flattered but I could tell he was. "That's different. Nothing wrong with an inquisitive mind. Sit down, Daisy." Daisy sat. Mr. Davis stuck a thumbtack on the flyer and pinned it to the bulletin board.

"Long ago," he said, tapping the flyer, "there used to be real freak shows. Greedy con men crammed malformed people in cages and-"

"Sir, what's _malformed _mean?" somebody asked.

"Someone who doesn't look ordinary," Mr. Davis said. "A person with three arms or two noses; somebody with no legs; somebody very short or very tall. The con men put these poor people- who were no different from you or me, except in looks- on display and called them freaks. They charged the public to stare at them, and invited them to laugh and tease. They treated the so-called freaks like animals. Paid them little, beat them, dressed them in rags, never allowed them to wash."

"That's cruel," Deana Price - a girl near the front- said.

"Yes," he agreed. "Freak shows were cruel, monstrous creations. That's why I got angry when I saw this." He tore down the flyer. "They were banned years ago, but every so often you'll hear a rumor that they're still going strong."

"Do you think the Cirque Du Freak is a real freak show?" I asked.

Mr. Davis studied the flyer again, then shook his head.

"I doubt it," he said. "Probably just a cruel hoax. Still," he added, "if it _was_ real, I hope no one here would dream of going."

"Oh, no, sir," we all said quickly.

"Because freak shows were terrible," he said. "They pretended to be like proper circuses but they were cesspits of evil. Anybody who went to one would be just as bad as the people running it."

"You'd have to be very warped to want to go to one of those," Daisy agreed. And then she looked at me, and mouthed the words: "We're going!"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Three

Daisy persuaded Mr. Davis to let he keep the flyer. She said she wanted it for her bedroom wall. Mr. Davis wasn't going to give it to her but then changed his mind. He cut off the address at the bottom before handing it over.

After school, the four of us- me, Daisy, Amy Morgan, and Tammy Johnson- met outside and studied the glossy flyer.

"It's definitely a fake," I said.

"Why?" Amy asked.

"They don't allow freak shows anymore," I told her. "Wolf-men and snake-boys were outlawed years ago. Mr. Davis said so."

"It's not a fake," Amy insisted.

"Where'd you get it?" Tammy asked.

"I stole it," she said softly. "It belongs to my big brother." Amy's big brother was Tyler Morgan, who used to be the school's biggest bully until he got thrown out. He's huge and mean and ugly.

"You_ stole _from _Tyler?" _I gasped. "Have you got a death wish?"

"He won't know it was me," Amy said. "He had it in a pair of pants my mom threw in the washing machine. I stuck a blank piece of paper in when I took this out. He'll think the ink got washed off."

"Smart, " Daisy said.

"Where did Tyler get it?" I asked.

"There was a guy passing them out in an alley way," Amy said. "One of the circus performers, a Mr. Crepsley."

"The one with the spider?" Tammy asked.

"Yeah," Amy answered, "only he didn't have the spider with him. It was night and Tyler was on his way back from a bar." Tyler isn't old enough to get served in bars, but hangs around with guys who buy drinks for him. "Mr. Crepsley handed him a flyer and told him they're a traveling freak show who put on secret performances in towns and cities across the world. He said you have to have the flyer to buy tickets and they only give them to people they trust. You're not supposed to tell anyone else about it. I only found out cause Tyler was hammered- the way he gets when he's drunk- and couldn't keep his mouth shut."

"How much are the tickets?" Daisy asked.

"Twenty-three dollars each," Amy said.

"Twenty-three dollars!" we all shouted.

"Nobody's going to pay twenty-three bucks to see a bunch of freaks!" Daisy snorted, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I would," I admitted.

"Me, too," Tammy agreed.

"And me," Amy added.

"Sure," Daisy said, "but _we_ don't have twenty-three bucks to throw away. So it's academic, isn't it?"

"What does _academic _mean?" Amy asked.

"It means we can't afford the tickets, so it don't matter if we would buy them or not," Daisy explained. "It's easy to say you _would _buy something if you know you _can't_."

"I'd love to go," Tammy said sadly. "It sounds great." She studied the picture again.

"Mr. Davis didn't think much of it," Amy said.

"That's what I'm talking about," Tammy said. "If Davis don't like it, it must be good. Anything that adults hate is usually awesome.."

"Are we sure we don't have enough?" I asked hopefully. "Maybe they have discounts for teens."

"I don't think teens are allowed in," Amy said, but she told me how much she had anyway. "Eight-fifty."

"I've got eighteen dollars exactly," Daisy said.

"I have ten dollars and forty cents," Tammy said.

"And I have twelve dollars and thirty cents," I told them. "That's more than forty-nine dollars in all," I said, adding it up in my head. "We get our allowances tomorrow. If we pool our-"

"But the tickets are nearly sold out," Amy insisted. "The first show was yesterday. It finishes Tuesday. If we go, it'll have to be tomorrow night or Saturday, because our parents won't let us out any other night. The guy who gave Tyler the flyer said the tickets for both those nights were almost gone. We'd have to buy them tonight."

"Well, so much for that," I said, putting on a brave face.

"Maybe not," Daisy said. "My mom keeps a wad of money in a jar at home. I could borrow some and put it back when we get our allowance-"

"You meant steal?" I asked.

"I mean _borrow,_" she snapped. "It's only stealing if you don't put it back. What do you say?"

"How would we get the tickets?" Tammy asked. "It's a school night. We wouldn't be let out."

"I can sneak out, "Daisy said. "I'll buy them."

"But Mr. Davis snipped off the address," I reminded her. "How will you know where to go?"

"I memorized it." She grinned. "Now, are we gonna stand here all night making up excuses, or are we gonna go for it?"

We looked at each other, then- one by one- nodded silently.

"Right," Daisy said. "We hurry home, grab our money, and meet back here. Tell your parents you forgot a book or something. We'll lump the money together and I'll add the rest from the pot at home."

What if you can't steal- I mean 'borrow' the money?" I asked.

She shrugged. "Then the deal's off. But we won't know unless we try. Now hurry!"

With that, she sprinted away. Moments later, making up our minds, Tammy, Amy, and I ran, too.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Four

The Freak Show was all I could think about that night. I tried forgetting it but couldn't, not even when I was watching my favorite TV shows. It sounded so weird: a snake-boy, a wolf-man, a performing spider. I was especially excited about the spider. I've always been fascinated by spiders.

Jane and Dad didn't notice anything was up, but Mark did. Mark is my younger brother. He can be sort of annoying but most of the time he's cool. He doesn't run to Dad telling on me if I misbehave, and he knows how to keep a secret.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked after dinner. We were alone in the kitchen, washing dishes. I had to lean a certain way so my crutches would support me while I used my hands.

"Nothing is wrong," I said.

"Yes there is," he said. "You've been acting strange all night."

I knew he'd keep asking until he got the truth, so I told him about the freak show.

It sounds great," he agreed, "but there's no way you'd get in."

"Why not?" I asked.

"I bet they don't let kids in. It sounds like a grown-up sort of show."

"They probably wouldn't let a brat like _you_ in," I snapped, "but me and the others would be okay." That upset him, so I apologized. "I'm sorry," I said, "I didn't mean that. I'm just ticked cause you're probably right. Mark, I'd give anything to go!"

"I've got some Halloween makeup from last year when I was Frankenstein," he said. "I could lend it to you and you could draw wrinkles on your face to make yourself look older."

I smiled and gave him a big hug, something I don't do very often. "Thanks, bub," I said, "but it's alright. If we get in, we get in. If we don't, we don't."

We didn't say much after that. We finished drying and hurried into the living room. Dad got home a few minutes later. He works on farms all over town, so he's often late. He's grumpy sometimes, but was luckily in a good mood that night and hoisted Mark over his shoulder.

"Anything exciting happen today?" he asked, after he'd said howdy and given Jane a kiss.

"I scored another shot from the middle of the court at lunch," I told him. He looked at me, smiling to hide his pain. He was trying to be brave.

"Really?" he said. "That's my Long-shot."

We turned the TV down while Dad was eating. He likes peace and quiet while he eats, and often asks us questions or tells us about his day.

Later, Jane went to her room to work on her stamp albums. She's a serious stamp collector. I might have liked it to, if I was younger and more easily amused.

I popped in to see if she had any with spiders on them. She just looked disgusted so I took that as a no. While I was there, I figured I'd ask her about freak shows.

"J…Er mom," I said, "have you ever been to a freak show?"

"A what?" she asked, concentrating on her stamps.

"A freak show." I repeated. "With bearded ladies and wolf-men and snake-boys."

She looked at me, and blinked. "A snake-boy?" she asked. "What in heavens name is a snake-boy?"

"It's a…" I stopped when I realized I didn't know either. "Well, that don't matter," I said. "Have you ever been to one?"

She shook her head, leaned back in her chair and patted her swelling stomach. "No. They're illegal."

"If they weren't," I said, " and one came to town, would you go?"

"No," she said, shuddering. Internally I sighed. My mom wouldn't have been so easily scared. "Those sort of things frighten me. Besides, it just wouldn't be fair to the people in the show."

What do you mean?" I asked.

"How would _you_ like it, young lady," she said glaring at me, "if you were stuck in a cage for people to look at?"

"I'm not a freak!" I said huffily, gripping my hand grips tightly. My legs were starting to give out.

"But imagine you had two heads or four arms, and somebody stuck you on display for people to make fun of. You wouldn't like that would you?"

Was she kidding? I was already on display to be gawked at, every day of the week. Each time I walked down the hall at school people stared at Blair Hughes, a dead girl walking. I shook my head to clear those thoughts away.

"No," I said.

"Anyway, what is all this talk about freak shows?" she asked. "Have you been staying up late, watching horror films?"

"No," I said stiffly.

"Because you know your father and I don't like you watching things like that. It's unbecoming of a young lady. I know you're not going to be around much longer but..."

"I wasn't staying up late, okay Jane?" I shouted. It's really annoying when adults don't listen.

"Alright, Miss Petulant," she said. "No need to shout. If you don't want my company, go help your father fix the rusted pipe under the sink."

"I never said I wanted your company," I growled under my breath, hobbling out of the room.

I was more than happy to go. Like I said before, Jane and I don't get along. I went into the kitchen and found Dad crawling out from under the sink. As he sat up he spotted me.

"I heard you and Mom talking. Is that where you were hiding?" he asked. "Too busy to help your old man?"

"She's not my mom," I said, "and I was on my way."

"Too late, he said, slipping off his work gloves. "I'm finished."

He went into the living room and I watched as he put on his slippers. He has huge feet. He wears size twelve shoes! When I was younger, he use to stand me on his feet and walk me around. It was like being on two long skateboards.

"What are you doing now?" I asked.

"Reading," he said. "I'm trying to finish _And Then There Were None_."

"Still?" I asked. That had been my Mom's favorite book. Dad said he was going to read it, to see what she liked about it so much, but had never gotten around to finishing it.

"Well you could just tell me how it ends and save me the trouble," he said. I stuck my chin out at him and shook my head.

"No," I told him, "you have to finish it yourself."

Dad grumbled but relented. He walked slowly to his room, he glanced over his shoulder a couple of times. He always seemed fearful that if he turned his back I'd keel over dead in an instant. I smiled sadly as he entered his room and closed the door behind him. I knew he wouldn't get past the third chapter, he'd just take a nap.

Mark was playing with army men and stuff. I asked him if he wanted to come to my room for a game of tennis using a sock for a ball and shoes for rackets, but he was too busy arranging his soldiers for a life or death mission.

I went to my room, and climbed onto my bed, leaning my crutches carefully against the wall. Then, hanging upside down, I reached underneath and pulled out my comic books. I have a lot of comic books, (believe it or not.) _Superman, Batman, Spiderman, _and _Spawn. Spawn's _my favorite. He's a superhero who used to be a demon in hell. Some of the_ Spawn_ comics are pretty scary, but that's why I love them.

I spent the rest of the night reading comic books and putting them in order. I used to swap with Tammy, she has a huge collection, but she kept spilling drinks on the covers and crumbs between the pages, so I stopped.

Most nights I go to bed by ten, but Dad and Jane forgot about me, and I stayed up until nearly ten thirty. Then Dad saw the light in my room and came in. He pretended to be angry but he really wasn't. Dad doesn't mind much if I stay up late. Jane's the one who nags me about it.

"Bed," he said, "or I'll never be able to wake you up in the morning."

"Just a minute Dad," I told him, "while I put my comics away and brush my teeth."

"Alright, he said, "but make it quick."

I stuck the comics into their box and stuffed it back beneath my bed,

It took me a little while to get on my pajamas. I had to use my crutches to stand so it was difficult to maneuver. Then I went to brush my teeth. I took my time, brushing slowly, and it was almost eleven when I got into bed. I lay back, smiling. I was very tired and I knew I'd fall asleep in a couple of seconds. The last thing I thought about was the Cirque Du Freak. I wondered what a snake-boy looked like and how long the bearded lady's beard was, and what Hans Hands and Gertha Teeth did. Most of all I dreamed about the spider.


	6. Story Note

Hi there! Sorry for not updating. Life gest busy. I promise to start posting again soon. Don't worry. Blair's story will continue. I promise. Please feel free to message me some ideas.


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